French Connection
by JellybeanChiChi
Summary: Five drabbles, each with a French theme. First four are 100 words, the last one is a double drabble - 200 words. For Sylvie's birthday. Hope everyone enjoys.


**French Connection**

(a series of five drabbles dedicated to Sylvie's birthday - which it still is in the states for 7 minutes. Joyeux anniversaire!)

A/N: So what is the point of this? Well, I've been wanting to write something, and what better occasion than the great Sylvie's birthday? And drabbles are fun. Thanks to Chauncey for giving me the idea of making a French themed set of drabbles. And another shout out goes to Florence, who unknowingly inspired a drabble. Be great, monamie! But since these are for Sylvie, I had another stipulation I put upon myself - no angst because birthdays should be happy :-) Sylvie, I hope you enjoyed your birthday and enjoy these drabbles.

**French parasol**

"Greg, I can't believe Grisssom hasn't told you to stop smiling," Sara said.

"Who says I haven't?" Grissom said as the trio worked on evidence from the crime scene at Frenchie's Gentlemen's Club.

"I'm a dude," Greg said, "and that dancer with the umbrella was hot."

"Parasol."

"Huh?"

"It was a French parasol, Greg."

"You could tell by?" Sara asked.

"An umbrella is used in inclement weather; a parasol protects against the sun," Grissom explained. "The material was obviously not waterproof."

"Yeah, neither was her g-string," Greg said.

"I didn't notice," Grissom said.

"Bullshit," both Greg and Sara muttered softly.

**Très magnifique!**

Grissom rubbed his clean-shaven face and did a double-take upon seeing Sara in the breakroom. "Are you watching this?"

Sara sat crosslegged as she enjoyed an action movie. "Well, yeah."

"You like this stuff?" Grissom asked as a bare-chested man smashed another guy's face.

Sara offered a smile. "I had a friend from France — Florence — who loved Chuck Norris. He kicks ass and looks good in a beard."

Grissom scoffed. "Fight scenes are staged."

"But the beard," she smiled seductively. "Très magnifique!"

Three weeks later, Sara did a double-take upon seeing a bearded Grissom sitting behind his desk.

**French fries**

Whenever Grissom ate a meal with Sara he would only order French fries for himself.

"Those things are horrible for you," Sara said to him every time.

"You're absolutely correct," Grissom replied, as he squeezed packets of mustard and mayonnaise separately upon a napkin in front of Sara.

Sara continually snatched fries, dunking one end into the mustard, the other into the mayo and then popping the whole fry into her mouth.

"These are good," she said, "but you shouldn't eat them."

"I can't help myself," he replied as he ate the last fry. The only one he would eat.

**Ce n'est pas grave**

The six CSIs gathered at Frank's for the first time since their split. Before leaving, Sara jokingly punched Nick's arm.

"I talked to Vega. He said you speak Spanish well."

"I took it in college. In Texas speaking Spanish is important."

"Plus women love a man speaking another language," Warrick said.

"It's true," Catherine said. "A tourist asked me directions to a drugstore in French. Hot."

Sara watched everyone but Grissom leave. He was counting cash for the tip. "Griss, I'll put in a few bucks."

"No, Sara. Ce n'est pas grave."

The look on Sara's face made him smile.

**French kiss**

They saw one another, approached and kissed.

His hand cradled her nape, caressing her skin and entwining his fingers in her silky hair. His touch, electric, conveyed both tenderness and urgency.

Neither let the multitude of sounds surrounding them - a cacophony of languages uttered in a multitude of pitches - filter to their conscious. They embraced one other within the bubble of their joined souls.

"So is it better here?" she asked.

"What is that, my dear?"

"A French kiss," she replied as she cupped her husband's face. "Is it better having one in France?"

He looked deeply into her eyes. "A man had given all other bliss, and all his worldly worth for this. To waste his whole heart in one kiss, upon her perfect lips." With that, Grissom kissed Sara once again at Charles de Gaulle Airport. "It doesn't matter where I kiss you. All that matters is that I may taste your perfect lips and open my soul once more to you."

She fell silent for a moment, her eyes misting.

"Should I have said that in another language?" Grissom joked.

"No," Sara smiled. "But maybe you should have said it while naked."

Later, he did.

**FIN :-)**

A/N: I think **Ce n'est pas grave** means "Don't worry about it." If not, I made a huge ass of myself. If you feel like giving me a review, I would be most appreciated. Hell, tell me what an ass I am. :-)


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